Silent Fury
by Jaden Anderson
Summary: Three years ago, he walked away from her, for reasons no one seemed to understand. And all that time, he's worn her favor - his silent commitment. Stuck with this relentless desire, what can he do now when someone else walks into the picture? One single night might be enough to destroy their relationship.


_A/N: This particular piece was written for Inveleth - who has taken so much time out of her life to put my stories into amazing pictures. She drew this scene and asked that I write it, so this is for her :D I hope you like it. Since FanFic is so anal retentive about links, I will *try* to post the link to the picture here, hopefully it works. If not, go to deviantart, search Inveleth or JadenAnderson and the picture is called Silent Fury under my favourites or her gallery. The usual, remove the spaces and add dot where you see it. _

_jadenanderson dot deviantart dot com /favourites / # / d55c71v _

_Thanks to Eve Hawke for being my wonderful beta once again, she makes it all pretty and shiny._

* * *

**Silent Fury**

-.-

Fenris shoved the door open.

He fell still, his chest heaving as he thought on the events of the day. His head dropped forward and a curtain of blood-stained hair slid before his face. He meant to brush it back, but the spiked armor gouged his face instead. He hadn't even realized his hands were gripped tightly into fists. He only wished they were wrapped around that... that... bronzed _throat_.

The door might have swung into the wall, if it weren't for the heaping piles of rubble still littering the floor. Six years he'd lived here and not once had he bothered to put things in order. It wasn't as though it was _his _estate after all. He was simply a slave, living in a borrowed mansion.

He stepped into the foyer, staring blankly into the half-shadowed mess. Debris, rubble, cleaved armor, abandoned weapons, blood - it all darkened the floor in chaotic piles. In truth, he very much liked it this way. Not even Hawke was able to sneak into this place, always tripping on the cracked stone, and she was the most adept at passing through shadows.

_Vishante kaffas!_

He shouldn't have thought of her. Now, he was glowing, his markings alight with the bitter taste of his fury. She was the underlying cause of his distress, as she _always _was. He could not go a single day without thinking her name and that realization choked him; just another form of restraint. After all, she was the reason he still remained in this blighted city. But to see her brazenly _flirt _with that... assassin! And right in front of him, as well! As though their night together meant nothing!

A solid crack echoed through his ears and blinking, he dropped his gaze to find his tight, lambent fist closed around a newly broken chunk of statue. He hadn't even felt his fingers seal around it, and now plaster and stone crumbled in his hand.

He intended to release it, only his eyes chose that moment to land on the spill of red tied around his wrist; her favor. For three years he'd worn it proudly! Borne the brunt of Varric's obsessive needling! Submitted to the pirate wench's constant torrent of insults and jokes! Carried the weight of the abomination's baleful glares! For _three _years! Did that mean nothing to her? He certainly never forgot about that night; the feel of her stretched beneath him, her searing touch as she grazed his markings, the press of her mouth against his flesh -

His lips reared back in a furious snarl and he stalked into the common room, whipping the chunk of statue clear across. It shattered in a hail of alabaster, sprinkling down in a rain of dust.

_Women!_

How he wished he could just rid her from his thoughts. He'd thought -

What _had _he thought?

He'd _thought _that Danarius' death would bring him closure! That speaking with his sister would help him find his past, and deliver him into his future. But she'd been _just _like the rest: a traitorous she-bitch only concerned with gaining power and bettering her own lot in life. He hadn't known his sister was a filthy mage, and that disgusting abomination had relished in that fact... But she was dead to him now. Some nights he resented Hawke for staying his hand, other nights, not as much. Varania was _nothing _to him, so why should he kill her?

Truthfully, he'd thought that once the bats in his attic had been cleaned out - once he'd killed Danarius - everything would fall into place for the two of them. He'd intended to speak to her of such a thing, throw himself to his knees and beg forgiveness, but then... those Crows came and that assassin and now - now... he was lost.

He let his feet carry him over the cleaved and fractured floor, the dust settling around his toes as he stalked up the crumbling staircase and into the room he'd claimed as his. With the sun already dipping behind the city, his chambers were dim, the faint light from the outer lampposts barely able to penetrate the windows thick with grime.

A low grumble spilled from his lips as he crossed the void and wrenched on the tie, yanking down the threadbare drapes. Just like that, the room was veiled in a thick darkness, and he deflated onto the haphazard pile of ragged furs and tattered blankets thrown before the blacken'd hearth. A cloud of dust billowed into the still air, not that he cared - about any of it.

He didn't care.

He _didn't_.

-.-

He tossed back the bottle, his lips sealing around the fragmented rim. The jagged glass caught against his lip and after a sharp prick, a bitter tang mixed with the sweet taste of the Aggregio. He simply took another pull, ignoring the burn as the alcohol filled the small cut.

He slung his arm around his drawn up knee and tipped his head back until it rested against the ashen stone wall. His thoughts were scattered, likely due to the fuzzy state of his mind, but there was one constant theme - the same one that forced him to crack open his final bottle. He just wanted to rest, but a certain woman wouldn't let that happen. It'd been so long since he had, and with Danarius dead, there was nothing to hold him back anymore. He _needed_ to rest. He needed... more ale.

His eyes dropped down to the unsubstantial bottle. It _had_ been quite a bit heavier not a half hour ago. His fingers encircled the robust glass and he gave it a shake, a harsh breath rushing past his lips when only the barest amount of liquid sloshed within.

Well... there was only one place he could think of to correct that rather egregious mistake. The Hanged Man; where everyone knew his name - he choked on a gruff laugh, his hair brushing against his lashes as he shook his head. Perhaps he'd already had a bit too much, if the second empty bottle at his side meant anything.

He lurched to his feet, the final bottle slipping from his loose fingers and falling to the floor with a heavy _clunk. _Ignoring the clatter as it rolled toward the fireplace, he swept up his heavy two-handed blade and stalked down the stairs. His feet knew where to take him; every night, they all ended up at the Hanged Man. Perhaps Varric would be there and they could play some Diamondback, anything to hopefully distract him.

His feet carried him the entire way, with little thought required from him. The paths were like second nature to him now and as he walked, his eyes skimmed over the crimson and gold silks strung from the permanently sun-kissed stone that made up Hightown. Kiosks lined the walls, their curtains drawn and deserted now under the faded light of the moon. Personally, he preferred tramping the streets at night; fewer gossiping voices and watchful eyes. Not that it mattered anymore, there would be no one coming after him ever again.

Hightown blurred by and he descended into Lowtown, where the crooks and merchants lived. The Hanged Man was not far and Fenris' feet led him the rest of the way, hardly pausing at the few beggars that entreated him to spare some gold.

He palmed open the door to the tavern, and stumbled inside, his hip knocking into a strange sign that had been there since the first day he'd entered this place. Pipe smoke collected in the rafters above and the stench of stale ale and rotted food sank into his lungs. It was the Hanged Man, no one ever expected any different. But what he hadn't expected was to find Hawke sitting at the table with Varric, Isabela, and Anders. Worse yet, that damned assassin was perched in the seat next to her, arm draped over the back of her chair.

Isabela's mouth shaped words he couldn't hear, but he didn't need to - it was clearly something sexual. The entire table erupted with laughter and the assassin leaned forward, his fingers brushing against the nape of Hawke's neck.

A haze as red as the ribbon still strung around his wrist clouded his vision and for a moment, Fenris couldn't see anything but the assassin's fingers, lingering against her flesh. Pure ire sealed his throat and he choked down a lungful of air. He was aware of his markings lighting and at the last moment, he tore his gaze away from the sight of them and fixated instead on the decayed floor. He sucked in a clean breath, and another, before unwinding the twist of his lips and slowing the desperate beat of his heart.

He should leave - he clearly wasn't welcome there. And even if he was, he was quite confident he would not survive the night, watching Zevran's tawdry touches.

"Fenris!"

His chin snapped up, narrowed eyes landing on the foolish dwarf as he shouted his name once more. His gaze darted to Hawke as she turned in her seat, watching him with a bewildered look. For some reason, he took great pleasure in this and it gave him the courage to cross the void between them and drop into the seat nearest Isabela.

Both women startled at his choice. He'd made it well known that he would never grant the pirate the opportunity to taste his markings, and in doing so, he never sat by her.

"Well, hello, sweet thing," she breathed with a mischievous grin.

He slumped into the chair and set his gaze on the two across from him. The assassin appeared amused, his leering eyes bouncing between Hawke and Fenris, clearly sensing the tension.

"Continue," Fenris grumbled, waving his gauntleted hand.

"Isabela was just telling us a story," Hawke informed him, calling his attention back from the long fingers pressed into the side of her throat. If he wasn't mistaken, she was blushing.

"Indeed," was all he offered.

"Ah, I see what you mean!" Zevran chimed, laughing boisterously as he dropped back into his own seat, his arm finally sliding away from Hawke. Fenris suddenly found it a bit easier to breath with that weight vanishing off his chest. "A man of few words, marvellous, really."

Fenris' brows darted upward. "You know of me?"

"Just what was said before you arrived," the elf smirked. "Quiet, angry, handsome - though I must say, they did not do you justice."

Fenris' brows snapped down immediately, his eyes narrowing. Was this elf incapable of conversing _without _flirting?

"Oh, such stern glares! Truly, a gem to be treasured. Isabela, how have you managed to keep your roaming hands away from this one?"

Fenris' lips reared before he could catch himself.

"Hawke wouldn't let me play with him," the pirate pouted. "But I think... _maybe_, that might all be changing?"

His dark glance snapped to Isabela. "I am not your toy to be played with."

When he settled in his seat once more, he caught the faint look that crossed Hawke's face - as though she found the idea offensive as well. For a moment, Fenris clung to this ribbon of hope.

"How about another round?" Varric chuckled. "And maybe Blondie can help me get this one? Before things start to get _really_ awkward here."

Anders leapt to his feet, chuckling weakly into his hand as he followed after the dwarf.

"So, you are a Crow," Fenris stated, turning the attention back to the assassin. He wanted to learn of the man's character, before he ripped his still-beating heart from his chest.

The assassin hummed and curved over the table, leaning on his elbows as though rising to Fenris' challenge. "That I am, my friend."

"I am _not_ your friend."

"_Fenris!"_ Hawke hissed.

"No need, _dulce mia_," Zevran murmured as he draped his hand over hers, watching Fenris closely for his reaction.

_Dulce mia?_ What did that even mean?

"Or at least, I was once. I wonder if one ever stops being a Crow? Usually, they are simply dead," Zevran continued.

"You are not." _Yet_.

"Indeed," he mocked, curving back in his chair. It took Fenris a few moments to realize he was mimicking his exact position.

"And why would they want you dead?"

The assassin's head fell back and a warm laugh fell from his lips. "Oh, _lobo __peque__ño_, the correct question is why would they _not_ want me dead?"

He didn't bother to question this newest name.

Anders and Varric returned and lowered the platter to the table. It had barely graced their presence when Hawke immediately swept up a flagon and pounded it back in a handful of swallows. Silence fell over the table as they turned to regard her one by one. And when she reached for her second, a smattering of chuckles swept around them. Fenris didn't find it amusing in the slightest bit. Hawke was not one for handling ale and he knew the state she would be in tomorrow if she overdid it. "Hawke, perhaps -"

She shot him a baleful glare over the rim of her flagon before tossing back the rest.

"Well done, Champion. To new friends!" Zevran laughed before reaching for his own and pulling deeply.

"I think we're going to need more ale," Varric teased.

"Let me see if I understand this," Fenris started, while maintaining an ever-watchful eye on her. "Your own want you dead, and you think it would be safest for you to hide in _plain sight_, with the Champion?"

"And why not?" he chortled. "I hid - in _plain sight,_ as you call it - for a year by the Hero of Ferelden's side. The Crows know better than to come after me when in the presence of such... deliciously _wicked_ ladies. Perhaps I shall remain for a little longer, see what _Kirkwall_ has to offer me."

Fenris saw red again, he _knew_ exactly what Zevran was implying. Before he even realized what he was doing, Hawke darted to her feet, swaying slightly, her eyes on him. Blinking, he found himself half-raised, his hand reaching for his blade-hilt and Zevran matching his stance.

"I'm going home," she announced, her fingers pressing into her lips when the slightest hiccup graced her words.

The Hanged Man had gone completely silent. It was no stranger to battles - in fact, not a week ago, he'd torn Danarius' heart out right by the furthest table across the room.

Fenris pushed the rest of the way to his feet, but his hand fell slack. She was listing and it was only the tight grip of her fingers, digging into the table, that held her balance. He was about to offer to take her, the words hovering right on the edge of his lips, when the assassin rose as well and reached out to take her elbow.

"Allow me to escort you, my Champion."

Fenris' hands clutched at the table as well, the claws of his gauntlets scarring into the wood. Her eyes met his, again, and he watched as that lower lip vanished into her mouth, her teeth setting into it. Finally, with an simple nod, she turned and led him from the tavern. Fenris' mouth gaped, his lips soundlessly working as he tried to find his words. She _led_ him! She was _allowing_ him to escort her! The elf's intentions were clear - had been this afternoon as well when he blatantly inquired if she would be interested in a one-on-one session. Fenris had spoken up then, unthinkingly. And the look she'd given him was one that likely could have killed him, if she had such a power.

"Easy, Broody," Varric sighed. "Maybe you should sit and have another drink before you split this table in two."

He blinked, turning his gaze toward their companions and away from the sight of Hawke leaning on Zevran's arm. Surely, she couldn't be _that_ drunk already! It was only two flagons! Though, he had no idea how much she'd had before he arrived.

"I do not _want_ another drink," he snarled, whipping his head away from them so they couldn't see the emotions streaking across his face. His markings burned with the threat of igniting and he did not wish for them to see _that,_ either - to know how deeply she affected him.

"Have you told her how you feel about her?" Isabela whispered, showing for once that she was not simply a cad.

"She is aware."

The mage across the table cleared his throat. "I don't feel like having my heart ripped from my chest tonight, but I'm just going to say this. She doesn't. I won't go into detail about how I know this, that's for the two of you to sort out."

Fenris' eyes snapped to the mage. He wanted to demand what he could possibly be talking about, wanted to insist that he tell him all he knew, but instead, he deflated and dropped back down to his chair. She knew how he felt about her, she must. Everyone else did - it was as clear as day.

"Look," Isabela offered. "Zevran... is a simple soul. There is only one thing he takes pleasure in-"

Fenris bared his teeth and brought his hand sharply down on the table. He knew exactly what it was that elf took pleasure in.

"-he'll 'sheath his dagger', if you'll pardon the pun, and we'll never hear from him again."

A howl of displeasure nearly darkened his lips but at the last moment he managed to tamp it back. She thought that would make him feel better? To learn that the elf simply intended on using her?

"I... need to go," he growled before shoving back his chair and rising to his feet.

"Don't follow them," Varric stated. "Just... let it be, tonight, Broody. Take the dwarf's advice."

He dragged a hand across his brow and crossed the room, nearly ripping the door from its hinges as he stalked out into the night.

-.-

_Venhedis_.

He should not have gone to the Hanged Man. He'd done so with the intent of clearing her from his mind and now, it was worse. His feet led him around Kirkwall, refusing to take him immediately home. He needed time to _think_, time to sort out just what he was _feeling_. Anders claimed that Hawke didn't know how he felt about her. How was that even possible? He had spent the night with her, he had worn her favor for three years... he had stood by her side through thick and thin...

He could leave, he _should_ leave - it would be best. Hawke had plenty of those that cared about her surrounding her, she did not need one more that only caused trouble.

He was ignorant to how long he wandered the streets aimlessly, but eventually, he let his feet take him home, a vague image of his blankets and furs rising in his mind. What was he to do?

Shaking his head, he palmed open the door and stepped into the foyer, hardly taking the time to even glance around before stalking through the common room and up the winding stairs. His mind was cluttered with a haze of thoughts, the after effects of the alcohol was making them quite difficult to process.

It wasn't until he reached the top of the stairs and a strange sound fell upon his ears that he stopped, his chin snapping up. He _knew_ that sound. He might have only heard it once before, but it was a noise that chased after many of his dreams.

A sliver of light graced the landing and he followed it, realizing then that he was in _Hawke's_ estate. His feet had betrayed him.

How had he not noticed? No broken stone, no rubbled mess, no decaying scent.

The sound came again and Fenris choked on his fury, his fists balling up at his side. He should turn around right now and leave. He _should_, but again, his feet betrayed him and instead led him _toward_ the light, regardless of the silent thoughts howling in his mind.

The door was only half closed, enough that he could see into Hawke's chambers. And the sight stretched before him stole his breath; a tangle of limbs and pale skin draped over _his _bronze. The _thought_ that Hawke might take Zevran into her bed had been difficult enough to bear, but to see it... her straddled atop him, head thrown back as the assassin's lips hovered in the hollow of her throat, fingers _touching_ her...

The softest sounds unfurled like vines, stretching out to him, as though demanding that he hear everything. He needed to leave, before he gave himself away, and from the heat igniting in his veins, he knew he was very close to doing so.

He stole a step, casting a final pained glance back at them over his shoulder, only to find the assassin's eyes on _him_, his lips curling into an opaque smile as they latched around Hawke's breast. Fenris jerked back and snarled as his fingers yanked brusquely on the crimson ribbon. Zevran knew he was there, and yet he continued, clearly taking pleasure in rubbing Fenris' face in what he had lost.

He cast the two lovers from sight and stalked down the stairs, the crimson ribbon still floating to the ground outside Hawke's chambers.

-.-

His ears perked at the sound of his front door being thrown open. Perhaps it _was_ time to start locking it. It wasn't as though he had anything of value for anyone to steal - with the plethora of broken windows, and cracked stone, it was likely few even knew this estate to be occupied. Beyond which, he had little to fear from thieves. And if it _was_ a thief who dared walk through his door, well all the better, to sate the thirst he was suffering under. Since last night, he'd been longing for a good fight - had nearly sought one out in Darktown, but at the last moment, he'd decided to return home. He hadn't even had any wine left to drown his sorrows with. It had made for a _very _long night.

No, he was quite certain he knew who it was, and from the soft footfalls, he was right. Of course Hawke was here. She likely found the ribbon, which he'd debated returning for many times the previous night, and was here to berate him for being in her house. He was in a miserable mood and if she came to scold him, all the better.

He lifted his sword and without paying even the slightest glance to her, he rushed his invisible opponent. Not an hour ago he'd taken up his blade with the hope of working off some of this incessant energy that would not abate. His anger seemed unwilling to fade, and so he'd begun to train with the hope that killing imaginary villains would rid him of the need to seek out something tangible - namely, one Crow assassin.

"Fenris?" she called his name and he tried not to acknowledge the quickened patter of his heart. It would not do well to encourage these reactions.

He canted back, drawing his blade down in a wide arc before lunging in a sudden strike. It was a move he had completed many times in battle and was always quite successful.

"Fenris," she sighed.

His eyes darted toward her, his lips twisting at the sight of her flushed cheeks and carelessly drawn back hair, held in place by what looked to be _his_ ribbon. Likely just finished another round with her assassin, and she decided to come here, after? How lucky for him. He dove into a complicated series of lightning-quick steps that took him around the entire length of his room, his sword moving to block whatever imaginary strikes he conjured.

He intended to ignore her until she left, he really did. So in tune with his steps, so lost to the liquid movements of battle, he didn't realize that a dark shadow darted before him. His sword was coming down in a sharp strike, and only at the last moment, when he realized Hawke was standing directly in front of him, did he drop to the side and stumble, his sword spilling to the ground.

"Are you mad!" he bellowed, turning to her with partially flickering markings.

She just stood there, staring at him with a blank look. "You ignored me."

"So you thought getting yourself killed would force me to acknowledge you?" he snarled, snatching up his blade and practically tossing it against the far wall.

"I knew you'd pull back."

His face tightened and he drew back his lips. For a brief moment there, he'd contemplated doing quite the opposite. "State your purpose and get out," he snapped while keeping his back to her.

She didn't answer immediately and he could taste her injury on the back of his tongue. Never had he been so harsh with her, but he wasn't in a tolerant mood - far from it, in fact.

"So, this is how it's going to be between us now?" she whispered.

Her voice was much closer than before and the sound of it forced him around to find her within reach, mere inches from him. Without a thought, he pushed back, increasing the void between them. He couldn't even stand to look at her.

"You know-" her voice wavered, crackling with untold emotion. "You _left_ me. I would just like to remind you of that little tidbit as you walk around with this hurt look on your face."

His teeth set into his lip and he pressed down, literally biting back the words that were about to flow past. He _knew_ that. He wasn't a fool.

"Fenris, would you at least _look _at me!" she chided.

His head fell forward until he rested against the bleak stone. No, that he wouldn't do. He _couldn't_.

"Fine, if that's how you want it. We can keep it strictly business."

The chill in her voice was difficult to listen to. He wanted her _gone_, that was what he wanted. He wanted to be free of this blinding pain.

"We have a job. I expect you to be geared up and ready to go in twenty minutes."

His shoulders shook with a sudden bitter laugh. She actually expected him to continue helping her. His debt was paid, ten times fold, in fact. "Go ask your assassin," he growled from his little nook in the wall.

He didn't expect her to physically lash out at him, so when her hands shoved at his back and he stumbled completely into the wall, he reared around with wide, shocked eyes.

"You're a _bastard_," she shouted, a glare worthy of him darkening her face. "Do you know that!"

The look on her face spurned his own rage and his markings lit up, casting a lambent glow over her rose-colored skin. "I'm not the one the slept with that assassin," he spat, stepping around her so not to be cornered.

Her face flushed, those crystalline eyes brightening with her fury. "It is _none_ of your business who I sleep with! You lost that privilege the night you walked out! So I'll thank you to keep your bloody _nose_ out of my affairs!"

"He is an _assassin_!" Fenris snapped.

"And you were a slave! I didn't see that stopping _us_ any!"

He jerked back as though she'd slapped him.

She huffed under her breath, her eyes darting elsewhere in the estate before she shook her head and continued in a quiet voice. It frightened him more than her yelling. "This is pointless... I don't have to explain myself to you, not anymore. You're the one that quit on us, Fenris. I-I... it doesn't matter. Youcut out my heart, and walked away."

She made a move as though she intended to leave, but he wasn't finished - not by a long shot. His hand darted out and with a curl of his lip, he ensnared her wrist with iron fingers. "I may have left that night, but I _never_ stopped caring for you!"

She blinked, the ire in her face dampening for a moment. Perhaps Anders was correct, for once?

"Perhaps you do not understand what that night meant to me. And not just being with you, but to be submitted to my memories only to have them pulled away from me, it was maddening!"

Her brows snapped down, the moment ruined, it would seem, by the waggling of his tongue. This time, it was her that gave the bitter laugh. "Oh that's right, because no one can understand _your_ life. You never even gave me a chance! I could have _helped _you Fenris! But no, you chose to just walk away. At least Zevran was honest, from the beginning, that it was nothing more than a fling. _He _was upfront about using me! Unlike you. You just took what you wanted and walked away. Well, now it's my turn."

Fenris was startled into silence, his eyes widening as he took her in. She _thought_ he had used her? Was that what Anders had been hinting at last night. Perhaps he _should_ have throttled the mage into revealing all he knew, at least then he would have been prepared for this revelation. As it was, he simply stood before her, surrounded by the chaotic mess of his common room, and said _nothing_.

Hawke's lips lifted and an exasperated sigh fell from her mouth. She pivoted, the edge of her tied hair whipping against his nose and started for the door. "You have twenty minutes," was all she said.

He didn't think about what he intended to do, he simply chased after her, his hand closing around her arm again. Ignorant to how angry she truly was with him, he was not prepared when she wrenched out of his grip. Her fingers dug into the collar of his jerkin and she shoved him. He stumbled back and she followed without thinking, her eyes flashing with ire as she did. Fenris blinked at the feel of something solid pressed into his neck and he dropped his eyes to find her blade hovering at his throat, her face twisted with rage. His markings flared in a white fire but swallowing past the dry lump lodged within, he managed to restrain himself. Quite an abrupt shift from just minutes ago when he'd nearly brought his sword down on her. Now, he wouldn't harm her for anything, now that he understood partially how she felt, and how deeply he'd wronged her.

She shifted, her eyes widening at the sight of her pressed against him, and she reared back, her heels striking against a rubbled pile. He saw her balance teeter and at the last moment, he reached out and caught her before she tumbled.

"Hawke," he growled. "I-" he didn't know what to say to make amends.

She snatched her arm free and jerked her head to the side, refusing to meet his eyes. His heart beat like a drum, drowning out any other noise that might have drifted in from the streets of Hightown. His lightly glowing hand hooked under her chin and he lifted, his breath catching at the sight of her eyes half-veiled with tears. Never had he intended to hurt her and the night they'd spent together, that hadn't even been a thought. He'd been so concerned with all that had been given to him, then stolen away - he hadn't given a thought as to how it would affect her.

His other hand closed around her arm and he led her into him, his pulse quickening the moment he dared to close his mouth over hers. He didn't know what to expect, but certainly not her hands shoving at him again, throwing him away from her.

"By the void, Fenris!" she shouted, her voice echoing among the overhanging rafters. "If you think you can just -"

His lips curled into a pleased grin and he descended on her again, chasing after her mouth even as she shouted more curses at him. He'd seen the blush to her cheeks and heard the sharp intake of breath. Her lips shaped around his for a second time before she shoved him back once more.

"I was a fool," he stated clearly, silencing whatever complaints she was preparing to draw up this time.

Her face slackened and she blinked, her lips working as she debated what to say. "What?"

"I was a fool," he repeated again. "I was lost to my own problems that I did not stop to think how it affected you. I did not stop to think how it would affect _me_ to lose you. I thought it would be better if you hated me, but it wasn't better, seeing you with him. If I could go back, I would have stayed, told you how I felt."

For the first time in three years, his shoulders rounded and he felt a little of the anger leach away. To finally rid himself of these thoughts, to share them with her...

"What would you have said?" she whispered, watching him carefully.

His mouth tugged into a paltry smile. "That I cannot bear the thought of living without you, Hawke. These past three years have been... difficult. If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly, at your side. If... you'll allow it."

She stood so silent, watching him with little expression on her face. It was clear she was confused and he found it alluring to watch every thought cross her face. His lips parted and he was about to speak again, convince her of his sincerity, assure her that he would never do something like that again when she suddenly rushed him.

A ball of grey armor slammed into his chest, and Fenris let out a laugh, his arms encircling around Hawke as he corrected their balance. She climbed his length with eager hands and stole his mouth, fingers delving into his armor and tearing it off piece by piece. For a moment, he was lost to her ministrations, chuckling against her lips at the sound of his garments dropping to the dusty ground. She pulled hard on his mouth, her teeth setting into his lower lip, forcing him to realize she was not in the mood for fun and games, but something entirely primal. The awareness of such a thing sparked something in his stomach and with a growl, his arm wound around her, crushing her against him as he fed from her mouth. For three years he'd thought of nothing else beyond her sweet taste, only to realize he'd been quite remiss in his memories. This was like nothing else and he never wanted to stop drinking from her.

Her armor practically fell away from her the moment his fingers touched the pieces. And the moment she was stripped down to her leggings and undershirt, his hands swept down her back and grasped at her rear, lifting her bodily against him. A small sound filled his mouth as she devoured him. It hadn't been like this the first time, and Fenris could not begin to understand the emotions toiling under the surface. He had no memories of anyone ravaging him in such a fashion and he found the thought of it robbed him of breath.

Her legs twined around his waist and she lifted herself higher, rogue strands of her sable hair grazing against his cheek. Teeth nipped at him while her arms wound around his neck, locking them together. Yet, he did not feel trapped. Quite the opposite, in fact.

He wasn't even aware that he was moving, carrying her with ease up the crumbling staircase and toward his room. He would not take her down there, not on the grimy floor or against the wall, not for their first time together after three years.

He broke away from the kiss as he lowered them down to the covers. Her rosy skin was flushed with blood and the sight of it tightened his groin. For so long, he'd thought he was the only one suffering beneath this; she kept her emotions held so close to the chest, not that he was any better. But to see her crystal depths lit with hunger and desire for him...

He dropped down over her, his mouth sealing over hers with an unrestrained heat that burned every nerve in his body. His hands scoured down her back, palms filling with her rounded backside, and he pulled her flush against him, reveling in the lithe feel of her body against his. His fingers dug beneath the material, practically tearing her clothing away from her in a single pull. He didn't even notice that his own were gone until the brisk breeze from his window swept over his warm skin.

He dragged his lips down her jaw and over her neck, his tongue laving against the small hollow of her throat - exactly where he'd seen the assassin touch her the night before. Fenris focused his attentions there, licking and burning away the remnants of the assassin's touch until her throat gleamed with his efforts.

One hand rose into her hair as his lips continued south, sealing around a taut rosy nipple. He plucked at the ribbon, eyes rolling up to watch as her hair spilled like ink down her back.

"I believe this is mine," he growled around her breast before balling up the ribbon and sliding it between the blankets.

"Then you shouldn't have - _ah, Fenris_," she moaned when his lips latched around her nipple once again. A ripple of pleasure threaded through his stomach at the sound of _his _name. He released his hold on her and kissed his way down to the valley between her breasts and up the other, tongue flicking against the other nipple, determined to lavish just as much attention.

His fingers crept down her side and he grabbed at her thigh, lifting her leg and notching it over his hip. His hand trailed over her creamy, smooth skin before grazing across her center, lips curling into a pleased grin when her breath caught. How he loved that little sound, so honest and true. He moved his hand away, nearly laughing at her small protesting whimpers.

His mouth worked south, tongue trailing over her flesh, tasting the familiar scent of her soaps. She had bathed this morning and he found his relief staggering. He wanted to burn the touch of the assassin away and she had made it that much easier for him. The image of her atop him rose unbidden in his mind and his fingers clenched around her waist as he struggled beneath a sudden wave of possessiveness.

He sank between her legs and dragged his tongue across her folds, barely parting them before delving within her. The taste of her filled his mouth and with a low moan, he suckled and licked his way, listening as her breathing sped. She shifted beneath him, the slightest little bucks, until finally she tensed and her hands balled into the blankets, his name spilling in a half-breath from her lips.

Warm fingers grasped at his arms and pulled him back up. The sight of her head tipped back, eyes hooded over, tongue tracing the swell of her lower lip pulled a growl from him and with little thought, he pushed into her. His chest rumbled with a groan and his head dipped forward, the shock white of his hair falling over her chest. He hung there for a moment, reveling in the feel of completeness, when soft lips clamped around the notched tip of his ear. A wild cry fell unbidden from his throat and his fingers snatched into the blanket, his hips thrusting against her.

Her tongue swirled around the length, stroked the ridges, and lashed against his lobe. How he'd missed this... His lips pressed against the hollow of her throat, teeth sinking over her threaded pulse as he slowly started moving within her.

"Fenris," she panted, her voice as wild as a storm, fingers flexing against his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist.

"Again," he growled, his hot breath searing her skin.

She obliged once more and released his name in a voice thick with need. His eyes squeezed shut as he listened to it, his pace quickening with desire. Her hands cupped his cheeks, brushing away the mussed locks. He met her gaze, like liquid crystal to his emerald. Her hands fisted into the hair at the nape of his neck and she drew him down, locking her mouth around his. Her tongue delved between his lips, stalling for the briefest moment when he slid within her again.

He broke from the kiss and met her gaze once more before setting the pace, his next thrust not quite as gentle as the previous. A fluting gasp dragged from her mouth and her head fell back, lids squeezing shut as her skin flushed. Every breath, every sigh, every touch had him enraptured and he watched as he sent her closer and closer to the edge.

His own pleasure coiled in his stomach, stretching out its limbs with his every thrust and kindling his markings in a blaze of light. Crazed, he stole her mouth again and rolled his hips, listening as her breath caught and repeating the same motion over and over. With a startled gasp, she arched toward him, drawn like her bow, and quivering just as tightly. Her hips jerked up to meet his, eyes closed as an impassioned cry echoed through the room. She clamped around him and his head fell forward with the sensation of it. He could see the edge and knew he hovered on it. Small waves of her pleasure conformed around him and that was all it took. His own groan brushed against her flesh and all he could do was ride it out, bowing and breaking under every little quiver. He spilled into her, his movements erratic as he rode out his own bliss. Slowly, the world came back to him and eventually he was aware of her labored breathing, mixed with his own. Her hands brushed the hair back from his face even as her head remained tipped back on his pillow.

"Fenris," she whispered his name once more and his eyes opened to regard her. He wasn't sure what he expected, but the small smile that curved her lips settled his heart. This was where she belonged - with him, not Zevran.

He slid off her and dropped to her side, gathering her into his arms and tucking her head into his chest. Slowly, his markings began to fade, abandoning them to the press of darkness.

"Is there an actual job, or was that your excuse to come here tonight?" Fenris questioned.

Her body shifted against him with a slight chuckle. "There is, but they can wait."

"Then sleep," he told her.

She stiffened, her head rising to regard him. "You'll still be here when I wake up?"

He chuckled weakly. "This is my house, in case you forgot, Hawke."

A soft hand slapped at his chest, but it was nothing compared to her previous shoves. "You know what I mean."

He lowered over her and pressed another kiss to the side of her neck. "For this night, and as many more as you'll have me. I am yours."


End file.
